


you make holes in me and little slits you use as mouths for you to kiss

by Anonymous



Series: dog teeth [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Anterograde Amnesia, Canon Divergent, Coercion, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, Lost Time, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Mildly confusing time skips due to memory retention issues and repression, Non-Explicit Depictions of Sexual Assualt, Panic Attacks, Short term memory loss, Some Retrograde Amnesia, Touch Aversion, Trauma, black outs, other characters but minor roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After Ranboo finds out about what Dream did to Tommy, he quickly realizes he's caught the attention of the man himself (and that he has for a while).
Series: dog teeth [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069550
Comments: 5
Kudos: 217





	you make holes in me and little slits you use as mouths for you to kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Nicole Dollanganger's song Flowers of Flesh and Blood
> 
> This is not intended to romanticize or sexualize any of the themes depicted within. This also does not reflect any of the content creators nor real life people who share names or handles. These are characters here and the events are, for all intents and purposes, fictional.
> 
> Part 2 of the Ranboo centric part of this series. [Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823742)  
> A glimpse into what happened between when Ranboo left Technoblade's cabin after Tommy gave him the letter, and when he showed back up messed up on the cabin's steps later. 
> 
> This one doesn't have much comfort as that occurs at the end of the Tommy pov part and in later parts to come. This is mostly just tying the two parts together more coherently. 
> 
> Also uh, this part could be uniquely distressing and/or triggering in some ways so please proceed with caution. It still isn't rated E explicit, but it's definitely what even I'd consider uncomfy and harrowing or disturbing, etc. 
> 
> _**liberally makes assumptions about Ranboo's past, hand waves technology on the SMP and how redstone works, ignores Ranboo's canon height, ignores parts of canon and uses others**_

He had left Tommy's new place of residence and immediately called Tubbo. He hadn't told him Tommy was alive though. He wasn't even sure if Tommy wanted Tubbo to know that yet. He told Tubbo that he had fallen under the weather, that he couldn't make it to the meeting later, that he should take Fundy with him instead. Tubbo, thankfully, hadn't asked too many questions, simply wished him luck and told him to feel better. 

He couldn't face Dream today. Not after all of that. 

He opened his journal, the snow crunching underfoot keeping him focused and grounded, the chill soothing where it settled over his shoulders, and he wished L'Manberg was always this temperature. It was nice-- _Familiar_ \-- Different and way more wet than he would have liked of course, but it wasn't hot. It wasn't like walking too close to the heat of a stove every single second. 

Reading over the notes that Tommy had made he worked to memorize them, tried to slot them so firmly past short term and right into long term that he hoped they would brand against the sides of his skull. 

He noticed his to-do list as well; the note to 'visit Tommy again soon' standing alone. He ran his finger over it, squinted. The handwriting wasn't his. He couldn't remember if he had even written anything else there before Tommy had added that. He hummed under his breath, the opening notes of a song rumbling somewhere around his sternum. Had there been something else there?

The faint impression of green, of bone white, sent his shoulders hunching. Maybe it had been a note about Dream. He shuddered, nausea filtering in like a swell of sea foam, bubbling and frothy, and he swallowed. Tommy's letter had been-- He shifted the square of parchment free from where he had clipped it against the page, mused it over the page in the hissing slide of parchment against parchment. It had been disturbing to say the least. 

And it hadn't been graphically detailed. Not even extensive. It was a lot of the same words repeated, a lot of scratched out words and shaky letters. He hadn't missed the smudged and running ink or the old faded marks of tear stains either. He unfolded it, eyes tracing the letters, and he couldn't tear himself away from it. 

_'Hey big man Big R big Ran big Boo hope you're doing well. Big D is still a dickhead but that's nothing new. He let me use his trident the other day, it was pretty cool. Wish you could visit more. I'm doing fine by the way. Exile is fucking great Big R. Green boy is actually sometimes okay even if he's dumber than a bag of fucking rocks and a big stinky bitch.  
-Big-T. T-Money. T Dog. T Money. T Gun. T YA. Tommy._

_Actually I lied. I fucking lied. That was a big fat fucking lie. Dream came by the other day. He brought wine with him which I thought was a bit fucking weird I mean what the fuck he knows I can't drink yet right? I'm not supposed to. I mean fucking hell Wilbur wouldn't even let me when he was still fucking alive. But yeah so he brought wine which was fucking weirdchamp. We got drunk. Not pog. Not pog at all. We both got really fucking fucked up and I didn't really want to but he kept laughing at me and shit and calling me a fucking kid and it was not as pogchamp as I thought it'd be cause we ended up on the cot and I thought it was just  
I thought he was just dicking the fuck around being a fucking asshole when he fucking got on top of me and I didnt think he'd fucking I didn't think he'd fucking  
I know friends aren't supposed to do that that's not what friends do friends don't fuck friends friends aren't supposed to do that that's not what friends do  
and I didn't tell him to stop I don't know how to tell him to stop I think it might happen again and I'm scared I'm scared I'm fucking scared and I don't how to make sure it doesn't happen again I don't want it to happen again i don't want it to happen again I'm scared I'm--'_

It cuts off into frantic squiggles, deteriorating into nothing but smudges of ink and crumpled and uncrumpled paper. His vision blurred and he swiped at his eyes, drew back his hand to see bright tears collected on his skin. If Tommy hadn't been all alone, if someone had just been there-- If he had just done more, made more of an effort, maybe he could have helped him. Maybe he could've hauled him out of Dream's grasp. Maybe he could've-- 

The letter collapsed under his hands, claws furrowing through the parchment, teeth grit, shoulders risen as he hunched forward. He should have done more. He should have done more. God, he should have done more. 

Why hadn't he been there for him? Why was he never there for any of them? Why couldn't he ever stop any of them from getting hurt? Why couldn't he stop it? Why was he useless? Why was he useless? Why was he--

He shook his head, stamped down the growing tide flooding his chest, the growl bunched in his throat burbling and insidious-- and he couldn't lose it in the woods, not when he wasn't sure if he would remember any of this when he snapped back to himself. He needed to calm down. Crouching, he buried his arms in the snow, up to his elbows. The biting sting of frigid water gnawed at him, insects crawling over his arms and sinking their pincers into his skin. It stopped the purple from creeping further into his vision and he sighed. Kept his hands buried and let his chin fall, crown threatening to slip off, but he didn't reach up to right it. 

He needed to get back. He needed to feed his animals. He needed to copy most of this down into _Do Not Read_. He needed to make it back to L'Manberg and pretend he wasn't threatening to rattle apart at every joint at the mere thought of even standing in the same vicinity as Dream...

Standing, legs wobbly beneath him, he continued his trek back home, journal tucked away into his suit jacket and the letter hidden once more. He hummed under his breath and wondered, briefly, why he smelled sulfur, why the acrid sweet metallic tang of… _something_ felt like it was sitting just under his nostrils. Brushing at his nose he realized it smelled like blood too, he could taste it on his tongue. Like it was slipping down his throat... His brow furrowed and he drew his hand away, but it was clear of anything. Just his hand and his arm attached to it and the cuff of his suit jacket and his dress shirt underneath and-- 

He brushed back the sleeves of both, stared at the bruises that had been perfectly hidden beneath them, far enough up they hadn't accidentally peeked free even once. He stared and he-- 

_Click._

The dark swept around his shoulders, like an arm slung over him, wrapping him up in its too familiar grasp as he stood in the midst of his home. Jjjjjefrey meowed up at him, Enderchest purred against his leg, Dogboo chuffed out a low bark off to the side and he must have made it back to L'Manberg fine then. 

There was a gapple in his left hand, a few bites taken out of it. He couldn't remember having been injured, but apparently he had decided to eat one. He finished it off anyway, meandering for his enderchest and freeing _Do Not Read_ from its hiding spot. Pulling free his regular journal he opened the two and compared his latest entries. 

He remembered visiting Tommy in vivid detail, every moment since he had sat on the bench sticking like flies to sticky, sweet paper; the contents of the letter, twitching and alive, stuck alongside them. Sighing, he set about copying over what he needed, smudged out what was too dangerous to keep in the other, and placed the journal back into the chest. 

"Well… Operation Keep Tubbo Away From Dream starts tomorrow, doesn't it?" he muttered to Enderchest who butted against his leg. 

"I didn't even know he--" He swallowed, petting over Enderchest's spine, the cat arching into the touch. "I mean, I didn't even know he was like _that._ He just seems… I don't know. Like he doesn't act like-- He can be weird, sure, but I thought he was just kind of awkward, you know?" 

Enderchest coughed out a meow as his only response. 

"Yeah…" He sighed. "Guess you can't ever truly tell the contents of a book by just its cover, huh?" 

Enderchest stared blankly at him. 

"You won't let me forget any of this will you, Enderchest?" He asked, half-joking, half-serious. 

Enderchest's tail flicked. 

"Thanks, buddy." He patted the ender-cat on the head. "I can always count on you." 

The click and crackle of his communicator implant whirring to life made him tilt his head, ears twitching. 

_"Hope you have a good night, Ranboo, and feel better, okay? The meeting went, uh, well by the way."_ Tubbo's voice echoed in his ears, laced with a tinny reverb. 

He brushed his fingers over the space behind his ear, rested them over the implant, and it wasn't necessary to touch it to activate it, but he always felt weird talking to air and doing nothing with his hands. 

"Sorry I couldn't make it, uhm-- Glad to hear the meeting went well. You-- You brought Fundy with you, right?"

_"Yeah, uh, Dream asked where you were by the way. I told him you weren't feeling well. Hope that was okay…"_

"Yeah, it's all good--" His breath stalled in his chest. "Uhm, actually-- wait, he doesn't plan on dropping by to check on me, right?" 

_"Uh… No, I don't think so. I think he was just curious?"_

"Oh." He exhaled heavily and turned it into a laugh to cover it up. "That's good. Great. Uhm, well-- See you tomorrow, Tubbo." 

_"See you tomorrow, big man."_

The connection dropped with a pop and fizz and Ranboo kneaded at his eyes. Great. He had landed himself quite firmly under Dream's scrutiny and attention somehow. That couldn't be good. Or, maybe... he had actually just been curious? Maybe Dream really just wanted to know why he hadn't gone to the meeting, when he usually trailed after Tubbo like a lost little duckling. It didn't have to mean more than it did, right? It was fine. He took a deep breath. It was fine. 

He rubbed at the back of his neck, knuckles kneading at his jaw. It was fine… right? 

Yeah, it was fine. He was fine. Everything was fi--

_Click_

"Check this out, gentlemen." Fundy grinned, ear to ear, holding up a chunky, square device in his hands. 

The docks sprawled out before him, the fox grinning ear to ear, the sun high in the clouds, and it must've been the next day already. And Fundy had found a camera apparently. They weren't exactly common. He could count on one hand the number of photos he had.

It was one. 

And it was an old, faded, curled around the edges polaroid slip that had churned its way out from the slot of a redstone-mangled device. Handed to him by the ink dipped claws of someone who's face had blurred to time and the worry of his thumb over their place in the photo. The other face blotted out by the scratch of ink and nails and eaten up by the blackened scorch of a fire. Until he was the only thing-- young and small and far, far shorter-- left clear between the two. And even then, he couldn't remember being that young, couldn't remember a time he hadn't worn his crown or this suit or when he had smiled that wide--

That picture was one of the only things he had from before. 

"Oh, oh! We should get a group picture! How much film does it have?" Tubbo bounced excitedly on his heels, grinning.

"I scrounged up a box. Uh, been working on trying to figure out a way to make more though. Had Sam take a look at it yesterday and they think they can help develop a better one, more redstone and less this ancient shit." Fundy explained, patting the side of the camera. 

"It'd be cool to have something like that to help, uhm… keep track of things a bit better."

Fundy's brow furrowed and his mouth fell into an 'o'. "Oh, right, shit. You know what, just for you Ranboo, I'll get your name to the top of the list for one of these babies." 

"Oh, you don't have to do that--" 

"No, no, I insist. You've done a lot of good work for L'Manberg since getting here and if it helps-- Then I've got your fucking back, man." Fundy clapped him on the shoulder. 

"Now group selfie!" Tubbo butted inbetween them, nearly wriggling with puppyish excitement. 

He hadn't seen Tubbo smile like that in a while. He hadn't seen Tubbo like this besides maybe a handful of times and he wondered if this was how he was before the burdens of a nation got dropped onto him. 

He was forced to stoop down slightly as an arm slung over his shoulder and he ignored the fire-brand burn of it laid across his shoulders and neck. If it made Tubbo happy, he could endure a few moments of discomfort. Fundy raised the camera, lens faced towards them, arm extended out, him on Tubbo's other side, and Ranboo remembered to smile as the bulb flashed with a-- 

_Click._

The sun beat down on his shoulders, hot and unrelenting, and the water lapped at the docks below him. Glancing around he realized he was alone again, Tubbo and Fundy wandered off. Lifting his hand revealed a shiny slip of paper and film pinched between his fingers. 

He tacked the polaroid photo into his journal, nestled it against the page that he reserved for listing off his friends and the connections he had made in the different factions of the SMP. Smiling he poked at the image of himself; grinning ear to ear, freckled cheeks dimpled and sharp teeth on display. 

Every single moment attached to it swirled around in his head as he looked at the photo, solidified in time; snapshot and square and forced into a frame, but he still remembered. Hopefully Fundy and Sam developed that new one sooner rather than later. It would be nice to have something more concrete to help catalogue his memories. Relying on the journals was always less than tangible. Like reading a novel, but never quite having a clear image in your head of what the characters looked or sounded like. 

"Is that a photo?" 

His shoulders hiked up, fingers snapping the book closed and hiding it from view as he turned to see Dream, the man's hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched in a bored slouch. The warnings that Tommy had written pinged around in the back of his head, like smoke under the nose of an alarm. Not yet overwhelming it enough to make it wail, but thick enough the anticipation was there. 

"Did uh… Did one of you find a camera?" 

He knew Dream didn't exactly have a burning desire for technology like Tubbo or even Fundy and Sam. Sure, like the rest of them redstone was a useful tool to him, but Ranboo had written passages in his journal, of passing conversations with Dream that mentioned how the man thought it could be a nuisance. His exact words were ' _pesky_ '. But Ranboo thought maybe he had meant dangerous, considering all the capability it had in the wrong hands. 

"Uhm, yeah, Fundy and Sam have been messing with it apparently. They want to try and make more." 

Dream hummed. "Could be useful..."

"Oh, uhm… Yeah, that's what I said." 

"You gonna start, uh--" Dream held up his hands like he was holding one and moved his pointer finger as if he was taking a picture. "Using one to keep track of the brain drain then?" 

His brow wrinkled. _'The brain drain_.' Weird way to put it, but not the weirdest way he supposed. 

"I was gonna try to, yeah." 

"Well..." Dream shrugged. "Hope it helps."

Ranboo nodded, heart thudding around in his chest, fingers threatening to curl into fists. Dream had-- Dream had hurt his friend. He still had the letter, the one Tommy had written, tucked away in the journal beside the warnings Tommy had given him. Dream meandered a step forward and Ranboo shuffled one step back. 

"Uh…" Dream started, head tilting. "Is something wrong, Ranboo?" 

"What? No, no, I'm totally-- I'm fine. Why?" He laughed and he hoped it didn't sound as tight as his throat felt. 

"You just seem--" Dream stepped closer, again, and Ranboo forced his feet to stay planted. The hand that fell on his shoulder sent every muscle in his body rigid, like he'd stuck his finger into a socket. "Tense." 

He chuckled, tried to play it off, eyes darting around the docks, hoping anyone else was here too, because Tommy's warning had said to never be alone with Dream, it had said to never be alone, and it was broad daylight and it was out in public, and he wouldn't-- Dream wouldn't do anything here. He couldn't. But he wasn't sure how much he trusted that conviction when fingers squeezed and he had to bite down on the low burbling whine that threatened to leave him. 

"I was actually coming to check on you... You missed our meetup at the community house this morning." 

"Oh--" 

That hadn't been on his to-do list for today. He swallowed, the faint scrapings of an eraser scratched in his ear. Had Tommy changed something in his journal?

"I--I forgot. My bad, that's-- That's on me." 

Dream huffed out a laugh and Ranboo winced. "You do that a lot, don't you?"

"Uhm…" His eyes darted anywhere but the mask.

"Forget things." A hand cupped the side of his face, just along his jaw and it felt like he'd lain his cheek on sun-scorched asphalt, like he'd pressed it to the coils of an oven.

"Dr--?" 

A thumb swiped over his lips and he snapped his jaw shut so fast it hurt. It was broad daylight. _It was broad daylight._ They were in the middle of the docks and it was broad daylight and anyone could see them and he was alone with Dream and he-- 

"Where'd you go yesterday by the way? You, uh...also missed the little meeting with Tubbo and the others." 

"I-- Can you--" He wanted to ask him to take his hand off of his face. 

He wanted it off of his face. He wanted it off of him. He didn't want those hands anywhere near him. They had hurt his friend. That hand had hurt his friend-- 

"Hm?" Dream hummed, fingers shifting, slithering like worms, all wriggling and skin-crawling, to muse at the base of his ear. Palm still resting against his jaw and cheek like Dream thought he was entitled to all of that space, like he thought he was some-- Some pet or something. 

"Please--" His shoulders trembled, breath quick, eyes pinched. "It--"

It hurt. The hand on the side of his face, the nails gently digging at the tender skin of his ear, which flicked away from the reaching grasp, but couldn't escape it-- It all hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hur-- Dream's hand finally fell and he inhaled shakily. Deep and long, sucking the air between his teeth and through his nose like he had been drowning. 

"Where did you go, Ranboo?" Dream asked, arms crossing. 

"I--" He swallowed. "I went to see--" He couldn't say Tommy. He wouldn't say Tommy. "Logstedshire. Uhm, what was left of it. I-- I wanted to see the tower where-- Where he--" 

"Where he jumped?" Dream said casually, like he wasn't talking about someone's suicide. 

And yes, he knew Tommy was alive now, but the implications that Dream wouldn't have even cared if he knew or not was-- 

"Yeah…" He managed. 

Dream huffed out a breath that sounded too much like a laugh. "What'd you get from it?" 

"What, uhm-- What do you mean?" 

"Did you find anything there? A blood stain? A little bit of shattered bone? A big ol' Tommy shaped imprint in the ground?" 

"No-- Oh, boy-- I, wh-- What?" 

"Just curious." Dream shrugged. "I mean, you went out there for a reason, didn't you?" 

"I--" 

"Was it guilt, Ranboo?" 

He opened his mouth to reply and Dream tipped his jaw shut with a curled finger under his chin. It lingered before drawing back. 

"You don't have to say it, I know it is." Dream shook his head. "You helped kill him you know... You and Tubbo and all the others. It wasn't a suicide, was it?" 

Ranboo shook his head. 

"No…" Dream chuckled. "It was a murder." 

Tommy was alive. Tommy was alive. He was alive and he was at Technoblade's cabin and he was fine and he had spoken to him yesterday and-- It didn't stop the swampy, sticky muck that festered in his gut from broiling, popping with black tar and the acrid sting of _I should've done more_. 

"It's okay." Dream said, a hand coming to rest on the back of Ranboo's neck before squeezing, like the stinging bite of fire ants. "I don't think he'd blame you." 

Tommy was alive. He was alive. He remembered that much. He wouldn't forget that. But if he hadn't been-- If he hadn't-- It would have been his fault. It would have been his fault. It would have been his fau-- The hand released him, retreating like the sheathed claws of a bored lion, no longer amused by the struggle of whatever it had pinned beneath it. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ranboo. And, uh… Don't forget this time, alright?" Dream said, waving over his shoulder as he walked away.

He opened his journal the moment Dream left, hands shaking, wrote the reminder to meet Dream at the community house tomorrow, and the words warped, blurring and slipping into nothing as his eyes pricked and stung. Blinking his vision clear, he flipped back to the photo, to the image of him and Tubbo and Fundy, all grinning and smiling, and he tried to bury himself in that memory. 

Stay there where it was safe and where it wasn't a hand cupping the side of his face or Dream leering at him from behind his mask. Where he was happy and care-free and it didn't feel like something was stalking him from behind the tree-line, it's jowls dripped with drool and teeth already steeped in blood-- Blood that belonged to his friend and-- 

His brow furrowed. There was a smudge on the polaroid. A slight stain, on the white side of him, tucked just below his chin, on the edge of his neck. He swiped at it with his finger. The speck of color didn't go away. It didn't go away-- It didn't-- 

It _was_ the photo. It was part of it. He reached up to his neck, fingers brushing the same spot, prodding at it. The slight twinge of palpitating at the tender healing of a bruise met him and he-- 

_Click._

"You're acting different." 

He blinked, eyes rolling about for a moment before landing on Dream. And Dream didn't have his mask on. He didn't have-- He wasn't wearing his mask and it was-- Why wasn't he wearing his mask? Why wasn't he--

"I thought it was 'cause you were remembering more, but it's something else, isn't it?"

A hand carded through his hair, and his crown was gone, it wasn't there, and Dream's eyes were green, a hazely, blue-ringed green, and he wasn't wearing his mask and he-- He was kneeling, knees against the hard floors of a house, presumably, and Dream crouched in front of him. This was-- He was alone with Dream, he was alone with Dream and Tommy had said-- Tommy had said-- 

"I--" He tried, but his voice choked up. 

"What?"

"I don't want to be here..." he managed, heart pounding so loud in his ears he could barely hear the laugh that Dream breathed through his teeth. 

"And where do you think you are, Ranboo?" 

He looked around, looked at the room and it was-- All of it was nondescript, plain, the lone window at an angle where he could only see sky and no landmarks and he-- He didn't know how he had gotten here. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember? Why couldn't he--

"It's okay..." Dream nearly cooed. "You don't have to remember." 

Hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, swiping away the heat trailing down them. And he hadn't even realized he had started crying. 

"Here..." Dream stood, straightening up and Ranboo trembled, he didn't like being stuck down on his knees while Dream loomed over him. And he was all alone, he was all alone and Tommy had said-- "This should help." 

The clunk and crunch of a jukebox whirring to life had him balling his fists against his thighs, shoulders tensing. He knew this song-- _He knew this song_ \-- Why did he know this song? Why did he know this song? Why did he know this-- 

_Click._

He scrambled up from the floor of his house, breath shaky, ribs falling and rising like the swell of the tide, and he trembled, the notes of a tune sharp on his tongue. 

There was blood-- Blood caught between his teeth and heavy on his tongue and when he ran his fingers over his lips he realized he had bitten through the bottom one. It hurt. All puffy and clotted and trying to heal. How-- 

He fumbled for his journal, read over the day, tried to remember any of it, and he remembered Fundy and the camera, he remembered Dream meeting him at the docks, he remembered going home and spending the evening reading some novel he only half recalled the contents of, he remembered going to sleep, he remembered waking up the next morning, he remembered seeing the note to meet Dream at the community house. 

Hell, he even remembered walking there, the slow trudging stroll as he scuffed his heels and contemplated calling Tubbo and asking him to tag along, because Tommy had said to never be alone with Dream, and deciding against it because Dream was already suspicious. He remembered entering the community house. He remembered Dream standing there, waiting for him, hands in his pockets. He remembered the trek up the stairs, each step tolling in his ears like the throaty cough of funeral bells. He remembered-- 

He hugged his arms around himself, fingers digging into his sides so hard he thought his claws might sink through down to his organs. 

"I-- I--" He stuttered to empty air, thoughts skipping and frantic and dipped in dread. "No… no, no, no, no, n--" 

The words choked off as a burbling cry ripped out of him. He could remember-- He could remember-- He didn't want to-- _He didn't want to remember._

He remembered the small room, the off-shoot from the rest of the community house, tucked up and walled off and he remembered stepping inside behind Dream, who latched the door, and he remembered thinking that was a bit odd, and thinking he couldn't even recall what he and Dream had been working on here or why, and he remembered that not mattering when Dream turned to him, when he patted him on the shoulder and told him to kneel and he hadn't asked any questions, hadn't even protested, guided more by strings than the own firing snap of neurons in his skull. And he remembered-- 

It was nothing at first, just Dream talking to him, talking _at_ him more than anything, and then the music, and he-- 

"I-- I don't want to remember-- I don't-- I don't--" He blurted out before clapping a hand over his mouth as he tried not to retch every scrap of food from his stomach. 

It clicked through his head like still images; with no context and far too much context at the same time. He remembered fingers tangled in his hair, tugging so hard he thought strands might rip out at the root, he remembered his knees hurting, his jaw hurting, he remembered a hand on his sternum pushing him back until his legs crumpled against the edge of a bed frame, he remembered hands prying at his clothes, unbuttoning and pulling and shedding each layer until he had trembled under the naked caress of warm air, he remembered sheets and a lumpy mattress and nails digging into his knees as they pried them apart, and he-- 

Tommy had told him to never be alone with Dream. Tommy told him to never be alone with Dream. Why had he been alone with Dream? Why had he gone there alone? Why had he gone there alone? Why had he gone there alone? Why did he remember going there alone-- 

He flipped through his journal, eyes landing on each instance of his to-do list, of every single time he had ever written down _'meet Dream at the community house'_ and he thought his bones might rattle their way out of his skin. 

"How--" He breathed, harsh and short and panting. "How did--" 

Enderchest rubbed against his leg and he jerked away from the endercat, shaking. He wanted to dunk himself in acid, he wanted to fall off the docks and let the slow gnaw of the water nibble at his skin until it sloughed off, even if it took days, even if it took weeks. He wanted every inch of him that had ever-- That Dream had ever-- He wanted all of it peeled off of him, vivisected and-- 

He crumpled to the floor, knees tucked tight to his chest as he found the corner of the room and huddled into it, tried to knot himself into as small of a ball as possible, buried his head in his arms and dug his fingers into the back of his skull. Pressing back with his heels, he felt the wall behind him, solid and stable and unmoving and he focused on that, focused on the fact it wasn't springs and foam and that it didn't give underneath his spine. 

how how how how how how how how how how how 

The word twisted and spiraled and he latched onto it and let it drag him down, because he didn't understand how this had happened. He couldn't even trace it to a beginning. The stench of fresh rain on dirt made him think maybe he could, but it faded and sifted from his grasp like sand, and he slipped with it. And the middle-- Jesus, the middle was bloody and rotting and festering, as if he had plunged his hands into the steaming guts of some animal and found only maggots and bloated ticks. The end was him; curled up on the floor, crumbling to pieces and crying, unsure what the hell he was supposed to do now. 

How had-- How had he-- How-- How-- How-- 

The worst possible thing had happened. The absolute worst possible scenario. And Tommy had told him to never be alone with Dream. _Tommy had told him to never be alone with Dream._ But his head was filled with so many pictures and images of him being alone with Dream that he wondered how late that warning had even come. Like a flare shot from a sinking ship after the waves had already swallowed it. There was nothing even left to salvage once help arrived. 

He needed to tell Tommy. He needed to-- He needed to-- 

_"Hey."_

He jerked up, spine straightening. He didn't want to hear him. He understood why Tommy had dug the implant out of his own skin, he understood so intimately and completely in that moment as Dream's voice reverberated in his ears. 

_"Uh… meet me at the Holy Lands real quick, when you get a chance."_

"Okay…" he breathed shakily, the connection dropping off with a click. 

He didn't want to go. He didn't. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to go. The notes of that song-- The one he remembered, the one he remembered every single little monotonous and meandering dip and fall and tone of, the one that swirled in the back of his head and draped over the muck like a curtain ready to draw back across a stage-- played in his head and he-- 

_Click._

"Here." 

Something was pressed into his hand, a small black box, redstone blinking and winking in a small glass window inlaid in it, a wood button breaking up the stark surface. He wrapped his fingers around it, ignored the way his fist trembled. 

"Tomorrow, while everyone's at the festival, you're gonna press this button, alright?" 

He looked up at Dream, infinitely glad his mask was back on, infinitely glad they were outside, that they were in public, that anyone could see them, that while he was alone with him, it would only take one shout and he wouldn't be alone anymore. 

"You got that?" Dream asked, reaching up to ruffle his hair. 

He nodded. 

"Good." And he knew Dream was smiling under the mask. 

_Click_

The first cheery colors of sunrise peeked through the windows, the decorations for the festival set up outside and he smiled at them. Today would be a good day. 

He looked at his journal. The to-do list had two items for the day. _'Meet Dream at the community house :)'_ and _'The festival is going to go well.'_

Today would be a great day. It had to be. He would make sure it was a great day. Everyone would have a great day. He would make sure of it. Today would be a great da--

_Click._

There was the rasp of cotton underneath him, his hand fisted into sheets, other pillowed under his head, claws digging into the soft give of a mattress below him. He glanced up, eyes landing on the noxious green ones across from him. He was all too aware he was laying on a bed, curled up on his side. All too aware Dream was nearly nose to nose with him. All too aware that he didn't feel the comforting rasp of clothes encasing his limbs. All too aware of the thumb tracing a lazy circle on his bare shoulder, of it trailing up to brush knuckles against the side of his face, and he--

"Shame this is the last time we'll be here..." Dream hummed. 

He shivered, knees drawing tighter and closer to his chest, and he tried not to breath, as if even the reminder he was alive would have the other on top of him. 

"I mean… we can always figure something else out, right?" Dream smiled, and all he thought about was being eaten alive. 

_Click._

Smoke twisted up into the sky, the button depressed under his finger popping back up as his hand went slack, and the little box slid from his palm, clattering into the grass. Splinters, shards of wood, shrapnel from the blast was lodged in his suit, cut across his cheeks. He followed the columns of water where they had risen to swallow the community house whole, up to where they pushed against the horizon, and he trembled. He took a step back, eyes wide. The dock had bucked up and broken like a shattered spine, a crafting box had coughed itself up from the wreckage and drifted, singed and gutted in the water just beside the shore at his feet.

It was gone. It was all gone. All of it. The room and the bed and all of it. Twisted into splintered boards and smoldering ruin. 

He took a step back, shook his head. That hadn't-- He hadn't done this. He couldn't have. He looked down at the small detonator. He hadn't done this. He wouldn't do this. He wouldn't have done this. He couldn't have done this. He didn't even know how to make TNT, let alone rig up redstone so it could be remotely triggered. He didn't know how to do any of that. He didn't-- 

Music swelled in his ears, so loud he reached up to cover them, so loud it was all he could even fathom. The ticking, plodding, monotonous meander of notes struck through him, boots to wooden stairsteps, marching with a thud-thud-thud up and up, and he remembered-- He remembered too much. He remembered and he--

A hand caught him by the shoulder before he could run. 

_Click._

"What's going on with you?" Dream asked, hands held out, and somehow he had the audacity to ask that. As if he didn't know. 

And apparently they had retreated for the woods, the community house nowhere in sight. They were alone. They were all alone out here. He was all alone. He was all alone. He was all alone and Dream had--

"I'll tell them..." he whispered, fists trembling. 

"What?" 

"I'll-- I'll tell them everything." He managed, voice wavering.

"You blew up the community house, Ranboo. You're a terrorist, a _traitor_. What will they think when they find out? You think they'll believe anything you say after that?" 

He huffed out an exasperated breath, chest fluttering."What will they do when they find out you--" 

A hand clapped over his mouth. 

"I'd think carefully about your next words." 

He shoved the hand off, reeled back, putting space between them. "I'll tell them everything you did to me." 

Dream laughed. "No you won't." 

His brow furrowed. "Yes, I w--" 

Dream stepped towards him and he took two steps back. Another and he took three, another and he kept backing away, shoulders hiking up, feeling like a pack of hyenas had cornered him, laughing and huffing and panting around him. His shoulders collided with the bough of a tree and before he could roll off of it, put it between him and Dream, there were arms caging him in. 

"You won't say anything." 

He steeled his jaw, raised his eyes to glare into the dead-void ones bored into Dream's mask. "I will." 

Hands wrapped themselves around his throat and he reached up to meet them. 

_Click._

He spit off to the side, the spattering sprinkle of red dotting the grass as he swiped at his lips and slid a step back.

Dream clutched at the bite mark driven into his arm, blood sliding down his fingers, dripping off his fingernails in dull pings against the dirt. "That was a mistake." 

A boot slammed into his gut, kicked him back, and he crashed into the dirt where the heel drove down into his sternum and pinned him like a scrabbling bug. He pushed up against it, heaved so hard he felt the leg buckle and give and he leapt forward, clawed at the grass as he stumbled to his feet and _ran._

Ran for the snow and the forests and Tommy and Technoblade and away from-- 

Arms closed around him and he went crashing with them, tumbling in the grasp of the claws caught into him. The world stopped spinning after a bit, his shoulders and spine unfurled against the ground. He blinked, groaning, ribs and limbs feeling like they had been taken to with a hammer. Dream straddled over him, his mask skewed, pushed to the side, teeth bared in a snarl that was more animal than man, gloved fists keeping his wrists pinned to either side of his skull. 

He watched, wide-eyed, chest jumping and falling. 

Dream leaned close, breath panting over his cheek and he turned his face away, stared into the woods and wished he was at the cabin, that he had made it to Tommy and Technoblade and-- The wafting puffs of breath felt like a fox had shoved itself into his burrow and decided to watch him tremble rather than just get on with it. 

His eyes watered, tree boughs and limbs sliding into a mass of color past his nose as Dream moved to hold both his wrists under one hand, the other sliding down the buttons of his shirt in a stuttering trail until--

_Click._

He crashed into the snow, arms disappearing into the banks as he panted, blood dripping from his lips to splatter against the white. He had to get to Tommy. He crawled his way through the frost, dragged himself towards the cabin mere feet from him, legs dead beneath him. He had to get to Tommy. Pulling himself up the steps, he tried to call out for anyone, but all of the names died on the way out. He had to get to Tommy. Collapsing against the steps, he slumped against the wood, his whole body lit up like a live wire, everything hurting more than he thought it ever could. He had to get to--

His eyes slipped closed. 

_Click_

He was warm, too warm, far too warm and he sat up, shucked off the hairy texture of whatever was covering him and blinked. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a shaky smile greeted him and his brow furrowed. 

"Tommy? Why-- Why are you in my house?" 

And everything _hurt_. Down to his bones, down to the core of him, down to where it still felt like fingers wrapped so tight around his throat he forgot how to breath. There was blood still on his tongue. The sensation of flesh giving under them swished around his mouth, of fabric and a clothed arm between his teeth. Of someone yelping and then snarling and digging nails so hard into the corners of his mouth he had-- 

"Sorry to say, but you're not in your house, big man." 

He blinked at Tommy, at him crouched down next to him, at the fur blanket pooled in his lap, and it snapped back to him like a thorned bow string stung against his wrist. Dream had-- He had-- All of it. Everything shuffled to the front, slouching and hideous, flies burrowed into a sloughing corpse, buzzing and putrid and spilling out. All of the rot, all the festering bite marks and lips on his and skin pressed against his and-- 

He had to tell them. He had to-- He had to stop Dream from-- _Tubbo was still in L'Manberg._ Tubbo was still back there. Tubbo didn't know there was something waiting to sink it's jaws down through the thrum of his jugular. Tubbo didn't know. None of them knew. They had to know. 

Technoblade was here too. And even if he didn't really want to, even if he would rather bury it again, lock it back up under the miasma; they all had to know.

_'You won't say anything.'_

_'I will.'_

They had to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939281) for the aftermath of this fic and to see what happened to Dream after all this. And get some Ranboo comfort.
> 
> Technoblade pov fic posted soon. Promise.
> 
> Comments are back online but will be moderated due to an incident.


End file.
